Page 9 of The Return of the Rake

“Yes, and I’ve a mind to do a bit of redecorating. Now that we’ve such a noble clientele to satisfy, we must give them no reason for complaining. I shall have to employ more staff too. We’ll certainly need a porter, for poor Mr Cogger is getting too old to lug such heavy valises and cases up and down the stairs. More kitchen staff too, I think.”

Martha’s eyes grew round at this information, the idea of no longer being the girl at the bottom of the ladder making her pink with pleasure. “A scullery maid?” she suggested. “And a kitchen boy?”

“Now don’t you go getting airs and graces,” Mrs Fairway warned her.

Anne laughed. “Oh, don’t burst the girl’s bubble, Hilda. Yes, Martha. You will be promoted from maid of all work to kitchen maid, and you shall be paid appropriately.”

“Oh!” Martha clapped her hands to her cheeks, grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you ever so, Mrs Adamson!”

“Hmph,” Mrs Fairway said. “Only on the condition she minds my teaching and don’t burn the gravy again.”

“Oh, it was only the one time!” Martha replied hotly, before subsiding in the light of the quelling glare Mrs Fairway returned.

Anne watched in amusement as Mrs Fairway relented somewhat upon viewing the girl’s crestfallen expression. “Well, so it was, and some time ago. I reckon you know better now.”

“Oh, I do—” she began, only to stop at the sound of a bell ringing shrilly upstairs.

“Good heavens,” Anne said in surprise. “Who could that be at this hour on a Sunday?”

“Captain Dearborn, most like,” Mrs Fairway said shrewdly, earning herself a tut from Anne.

“You know very well he and Major Hancock are dining at the vicarage today. With the kind of hospitality he’ll get from Reverend Honeywell, he’ll likely crawl home to bed in the early hours and not be seen for several days,” she said tartly. “So, I had better see if we have a new guest.”

“Well, well,” King said, gazing up at The Mermaid’s Tale with interest. “How very elegant.”

It had always been a lovely building, with its graceful painted columns and wrought-iron balustrade and it was clear the place was exceptionally well cared for. Though the day had turned chilly, a damp mist settling on King’s hat and coat, there was still a cheerful display of geraniums bursting through the railings and trailing down towards them, a welcome splash of colour on such a dull day.

Repton, who knew nothing of King’s association with Mrs Fairway or that he had once owned the property himself, gave his employer a speculative glance but said nothing. King did not find this surprising. He had been in a rare mood since they had left that morning and Repton wisely held his tongue whenever his employer’s temper showed.

King appreciated his restraint, struggling to appear relaxed when his guts had tied themselves into a knot for no good reason. Despite telling himself he was not afraid of ghosts, returning to the place of his birth, a place he had not seen in fifteen years, was unnerving. Especially unsettling was his discovery that the town had changed so little. He could have left yesterday for all the difference he could remark.

Repton shifted from foot to foot, his only indication of impatience.

“Yes, yes, we’re going in,” King said dryly, hefting his own bag and instructing his coachman to take the carriage and horses around the back to the stables.

Repton followed him at a discreet distance, carrying two smaller valises and with an expression of such regal hauteur, King wondered if they’d believe he was the guest instead of the valet.

Inside the building was no less lovely. A display of fresh flowers and greenery greeted them as the warm glow of a lamp chased away the gloom of the afternoon. King walked to the desk and picked up a small brass bell, giving it a decisive ring.

There was a brief silence before light footsteps sounded and, a moment later, a door opened farther along the corridor.

At first, he could distinguish little about the person other than that they were female, something about the graceful way the figure moved piquing his interest. An inevitable swish of skirts and petticoats reached him in the seconds before his gaze took in a face of such exquisite proportions, King could only stare. The golden spill of light from the lamp enriched hair of vibrant red, a colour so rare and extraordinary King’s breath caught in his throat. Slender brows arched over green eyes, putting him in mind of spring and the burgeoning explosion of life that returned after months of dreary winter. Here then was Persephone herself, goddess of spring, emerging from the dark, he thought, struck dumb by his sudden descent into fancy. King was never fanciful. Yet the desire to play Hades to this exquisite creature and drag her down into the darkness with him was a shaft of unalloyed desire, the like of which he had never known before.

“Good afternoon,” she said, her voice resonating inside him in the oddest manner.

This was Mrs Fairway’s lady, then, the young widow she had done everything to keep safe. Did the lady know who he was?

Her gaze was direct, but her expression gave nothing away, her smile politely welcoming. “I am Mrs Adamson, proprietor of The Mermaid’s Tale. How might I help you?” she added, forcing King to realise he had forgotten his manners in favour of gazing at her like a complete pillock.

“Good afternoon,” he replied belatedly, watching her make assumptions about him from his clothes, his speech, all of which were then muddled when her eyes drifted to the diamond in his ear. A flicker of something that might have been interest glimmered in her eyes, there and gone so quickly he would not have noticed if he hadn’t been studying her reaction so closely. “I would like a room, one with an adjoining chamber for my valet.”

“Certainly,” she said, opening the ledger before her and finding the relevant page. “For how long?”

“I am not sure. Perhaps only a night or two. Perhaps longer,” he added slowly, his gaze falling to her mouth and discovering it wide and alluring.

He wondered idly if the lovely widow had since remarried, and if she had, if her husband was suitably attentive. King smiled a little, considering how amusing it might be to return here and cause havoc of the kind that would surprise no one at all.

If she noticed his interest, she gave no sign of it, merely nodding. “I am afraid you will find the place sadly quiet and devoid of entertainment at this time of year, though of course, it is the perfect place for fresh air and peace and quiet, should that be what you are looking for.”